


The Cure for a Hangover

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: All consensual don't worry, Asphyxiation, Choking, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Name-Calling, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Seduction, Spanking, dom!Chilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Dr. Chilton are not friends. In fact, you hate each other. So neither of you really know what made you pick up the phone and call him while out at a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure for a Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> So I know that the majority of the Chilton fandom has decided that he's a big ol' softie, but I like to imagine he rough as hell when he's angry. *teeheehee* Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Chilton moaned and turned over in his bed. He had been five seconds away from falling into dreamland completely but his phone ringing disturbed him. It was 11:58pm on a Saturday. Not too late, but Chilton didn't like to sleep in, so he always slept early. He looked at the phone and furrowed his brow in confusion when he saw the number.

You had just recently started working at the BSHCI and you had made it overwhelmingly clear that you did not like him. Not that he really cared, because he found you to be irritating. Your persistent attitude and blunt personality just made you seem disagreeable to him and the two of you often bickered over inmate files. You avoided speaking with him at work as much as possible, so why on Earth would you be calling him now?

He considered ignoring you but his curiosity got the better of him. "Hello?" he answered grumpily. 

You're in a loud environment and he has to strain his voice to hear you. "Dr. Chilton, could you call me a taxi?" You yell.

"Excuse me?"

"The bartender says I'm too drunk to drive but I don't know any numbers for taxis," you say on the other side. 

Chilton groaned and turned on his bedside lamp. "What made you want to call me?"

A fit of giggles overcomes you before you answer. "I thought since you're such a know-it-all, you could let me know!"

 _So she's a giddy drunk_ , Chilton thinks to himself. "Ask the bartender for help," he snaps.  


"I can't hear you!"

"I said, ask the bartender!"

"What?"

 _For Christ's sake._ "Ask the bartender!" He yells.  _What am I even doing?_

"Wait, wait, wait…" you say. Chilton hears shuffling and footsteps, then a door slamming, followed by quiet. "Okay. I'm in the bathroom now. I can hear you."

"I'm going to go to sleep now," he mutters. "Goodni-"

"Wait!"  


" _What?_ "

You fall into a fit of giggles. "I'm in the handicapped bathroom," you say. "It's big and private! I'm sitting on the sink and…" 

Chilton waits for you to continue, but you've trailed off. He calls your name over the line but you don't answer. He calls your name again, louder this time. "Where are you?" He asks. 

"O-Ducky's," you whisper after a while. "All those silly Irish ducks…." Your giggles trail off and Chilton hears snoring on the other line. 

 _Are you fucking kidding me right now?_  He knows that he has to do something about you passing out at a bar, but at the same time, he doesn't particularly  _want_ to.   


 _Pull yourself together, Frederick_ , he tells himself.  _You can't just leave her._  


He throws on a t-shirt and sweatpants and goes downstairs. He considers calling the bar (he figures that you're at O'Douglass's, a pub that has a neon rubber duck on the sign) and letting the bartender know where you are, but he doesn't know if he should trust that you'll be in good hands. Annoyed and pissed off, Chilton grabs his keys and sets off to find you. 

When he gets to the bar, he convinces the bartender to open the handicapped bathroom for him, and he finds you passed out over the sink. The bouncer carries you to Chilton's car, willing to help only because Chilton has a cane, and he gets in the car take you home. Except you won't wake up properly and he has no clue where you live. He mentally curses you as he takes you back to his own house and lays you down in recovery position in his guest bedroom.   


As he's about to leave the room, your hand reaches out and grabs his. "Wait," you murmur.

Chilton lets out a deep sigh. "What is it now?" He asks.

You giggle and say, "I hate your guts."

He rolls his eyes. "The feeling is mutual," he grumbles.

"Maybe we should fuck it out," you moan.

Chilton snatches his hand away from yours. "Go to sleep," he commands, leaving the room. 

He goes to his own room, pissed off and tired as fuck.  _Let's hope she's gone by the time I wake up_ , he thinks to himself, though he knows that wouldn't be the case.

  


When you wake up the next morning, your head is pounding and your stomach feels raw. You stay in bed for a minute before suddenly having to hurl. You lunge out of bed and towards the joining bathroom and puke. After you're done, you look around and realize that you have no idea where you are.  _Shit!!!!!_ you panic and look for your things but they are nowhere to be found. You walk downstairs slowly, trying to see if anything strikes you as familiar. You're still wearing last night's clothes, and you look like an absolute mess, but you just want to get out of here ASAP. 

Your heart drops when Chilton finally comes into your line of sight.  _No way..._

He turns when he hears footsteps, and rolls his eyes at the sight of you. "Finally," he mutters. He's sitting in his living room, watching the news.

"What am I doing here?" You ask.

"You called me drunk last night," he explains. "I picked you up and brought you here." He mutes the TV and stands up. "Please tell me you didn't puke on the guestbed." 

The word 'puke' makes you nauseous and you ran to the kitchen sink and throw up. You turn red, absolutely mortified at what happened. You only remember up to the bartender telling you to call a taxi, but nothing afterwards. What on Earth made you want to call Chilton? It's not like he's your friend. 

It confuses you even more when Chilton comes and rubs your back. "I'll make you some coffee," he says. "How do you like it?"

"Black," you mutter. 

  


Two hours later, you sit across the kitchen table from Chilton. He tells you what happened as you stuff your face with pastries. The headache and nausea have gone, but now you're hungry. 

"So you don't remember anything at all? he asks you.

You watch him. He looks as grumpy as ever, but you feel less hostile towards him. After all, he must be decent to do all of this. "Not really," you say, swallowing a bite of croissant. "...Except just one thing…" you add hesitantly. 

Chilton raises an eyebrow. "Oh yea?"

"Mhmm…" you nod. "Just something about…"

"Yes?"

"Fucking out our hate for each other?"

A look of sheer panic crosses Chilton's face and you can't decide whether you should feel good or bad about bringing it up. On the one hand, it's kind of mean, isn't it? On the other hand, maybe you can turn it into an inside joke. 

"Uh, yea," he mumbles. "You said something like that." He's turning red and you take another bite to keep from laughing. 

"Listen," you say timidly after you've finished your food. "Would it be okay if I took a shower? I feel pretty disgusting right now."

Chilton agrees and gives you a towel to use. 

Fifteen minutes later, you come downstairs, washed up and in a towel, and find him in the living room, sprawled on the sofa with a newspaper in his hands. You smile in spite of yourself. You may hate the man, but even you have to admit he looks adorable in glasses. Maybe it's because he's been so considerate, or maybe it's some leftover alcohol in your blood, but something makes you stand in front of him. He looks at you from over his glasses, his glare quickly fading at the sight of you wrapped in a towel that barely covers your hips. "What are you doing?"

You shrug. "Nothing," you say.

"How about you put some clothes on?" he suggests. 

"Why?" you ask. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Chilton shifts his position. "This is inappropriate," he mumbles, looking at the paper in his hands. 

You laugh. "I think we passed inappropriate last night when you brought me here."

Chilton scowls. "I didn't know where you live," he says.

"There's alway google," you say, stepping towards him.

"Stop it," he whispers, but he sits up and puts the paper down on the coffee table. 

You lean your hands on the table and bring your face close to his. His eyes are fixated on you. "Did I turn you on, Doctor, when I asked you to fuck me?" you murmur. 

"Absolutely not," Chilton replies. 

You're so close to him that you can see the desire reflected in his dilated pupils. "Then what do I have to do to turn you on?" You ask.

Chilton swallows. He shifts his hand in his lap, and the movement gives him away. 

"Oh!" you say. "I'm turning you on right now, aren't I?"

He grits his teeth and doesn't answer. 

You smirk and climb onto the table. You sit facing him with your legs crossed. Your knee touches his and he pulls it away. "What do you want to do with me, Doctor?" You murmur.

Something snaps in Chilton and he stands abruptly, taking you by surprise. "Take off your towel," he commands. "And lay down on the table."

You raise your eyebrow. That sure didn't take much convincing. You stand and remove your towel slowly, not taking your eyes off him the entire time. 

"On your back," Chilton says once the towel pools around your feet. You oblige and wait.

"I've always known you were persistent," he says as he trails his fingers on your stomach. "It doesn't come as a surprise that it translates into the bedroom." He leans down until his lips are just a couple centimetres away from yours. "Let's hope you're better at taking orders in such situations," he whispers before touching his lips to yours. 

He kisses you deeply, parting your lips with his and using his tongue freely. He lowers his hands to your breasts, massaging them and pinching your nipples every few seconds. This makes you moan. He pulls his lips away from yours and starts kissing your neck, moving down towards your collar bone and then to your chest. You whimper as he runs his tongue firmly over one of your nipples, then bites it, pinching the other with his fingers. 

You arch your back up, offering more of your chest as you grip onto the side of the marble table. 

"You're a slut, you know that?" Chilton says. "I never knew, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He stands up. "Or do you just like to be treated like one?"

You smirk. "I'm just horny as fuck," you say. "It's either you or my hands. The latter requires more effort on my part."

This seems to piss him off. He leans one hand beside you on the table as the other one comes down around your neck. "I don't know much about you," he snarls. "But here's what I do know: you're rude, you're careless, you're obnoxious. You think far too highly of your own opinion, and you love the sound of your own voice." His grasp on your neck becomes tighter with each word and your breathing becomes shallow and laboured. "I think it's time you learn to shut up," he continues, his hand now cutting off your oxygen. You panic slightly, and grab his wrist with both hands. 

"You're a pretty girl," he says, stroking your cheek with his free hand. "But pretty doesn't get you very far. It's all about how you  _perform._ "

He lets go of your throat and you gasp in the air. You bring a hand up to your neck and stroke where he choked you. 

"Turn over," he says. After you do as you're told, Chilton takes your ankles in his hands and pulls you down on the table until you can rest your knees on the floor. "You seem to be good at taking orders," he murmurs as he rubs gentle circles on the small of your back. "Maybe I should move onto my next lesson: teaching you to shut up." 

He takes his hand away from you and you look over your shoulder to see him taking off his shirt and dropping his pants. You moan at the sight of his hard cock, but it turns into a yelp as he gives you a firm slap on the ass, then rubs it. "You're off to a bad start," he tsks.

You bite your lip as he takes a hold of your hip with one hand and uses the other to rub the head of his cock against your clit. "I don't want you to make a sound," he purrs. "Understood?"

You nod before burying your head in your arms. Chilton eases his cock into your dripping entrance and you bite your lips to keep from moaning at his slow beginning. 

"Good girl," he says, easing out just as slowly. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

You shake your head no and he eases into you again. He continues his painfully slow movements for several thrusts, and you grow irritated. You push back with your hips, trying to take in more of his cock faster. He slaps your ass for that. "Now, now, I'm the one teaching a lesson here, remember?" He says, but he starts picking up speed. He trusts harder and faster into you and you arc your back, lifting your head off the table, and let out a moan. 

Chilton grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks, making you gasp. "What did I say about making any sounds?" he snarls.

You nod, and he pushes your face down against the table surface. You cover your mouth with your own hand to keep from moaning as Chilton's thrusts become harder and faster until he's slamming into you. Your thighs hit the table with each thrust and your knees start to ache. You whimper against your hand. It comes out muffled and Chilton hears it. He grabs your hair again, this time pulling you up to your feet so that your back is pressed against his chest. "Do you remember what I said, you fucking whore?" he spits as he continues to thrust into you. His hand wraps around your neck, choking you again. 

His free hand travels down and rubs your clit as he slams his cock into your pussy. You try to gasp and moan, but his hand doesn't allow a sound to escape. You're so turned on, but holy fuck, you're terrified. You claw at his fingers, trying to get him to loosen them. 

"See?" he says softly. "You aren't making a single sound." He lets go of you completely when you're seconds away from orgasming and backs away, causing you to fall on your knees and gasp for air. When you catch your breath, you look up at him. He caresses your face with his hand. "You're learning well, sweetheart," he says. "Now stand up."

You stand, your knees shaky and hurting from the kneeling on the hardwood floor. Chilton sits on the sofa and pats his lap. "Time to evaluate your performance, love," he says. 

You climb on to his lap, straddling him, and push his chest back so he leans against the back cushions. He stretches his arms over the back of the sofe and smirks up at you. "Go ahead," he says.

You hold onto his shoulders and start riding his cock. You try to go slowly like he did at first, but you are too desperate to orgasm at this point, and start writhing on top of him quickly. You close your eyes and grab onto his hair. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier as you ride him and Chilton's hands come up to cup your bouncing breasts. "Harder," he commands as he squeezes.

"Ye-yes sir," you gasp out, thrusting down as hard as you can onto his cock. "F-fuck! Fuck!!" You yell out. 

Chilton takes one of your nipples into his mouth as he grabs your hips and starts to thrust up every time you come down. You moan at his actions. 

"You're doing s-so well, darling," Chilton groans out. 

You open your eyes to look at his face: flushed and sweating with his mouth hanging open and his eyes fixed on your face. It pushes you completely over the edge and you cry out as you orgasm.

Chilton lets out a low, growling sound at your pussy clenching around him. He grabs your waist and pushes you down onto your back on the sofa and starts slamming into you. You gasp and moan as he pushes into you as hard and fast as he can. He doesn't let you come down from your orgasm and you writhe underneath him, your legs tangled around his waist. He pins your hands above your head. "Fuck you, you slut," he groans. "You fucking cunt." You gasp in response.

Chilton gathers your wrists in one hand and puts the other around your neck. "You like it, don't you?" he says. "You like me calling you names. You like me teaching you a lesson, don't you?" His grip around your neck tightens when you don't answer. "Don't you?" He repeats.

You stare at him, wide-eyed. "Yes!" You gasp. "I do!"

He lets go of your neck and continues to thrust into you, starting to ease up his rhythm and lowering himself down to kiss your neck as one of his hands rubs circles around your clit. 

You feel your second orgasm coming on. It's more drawn out and gentle than the last one and you go tremble as it overcomes you. "Oh, Frederick," you whisper as you come.

His breath hitches at the sound of his name on your lips. Encouraged, you say it again, this time even softer. "Frederick…"

He lets out a low moan and comes into you, whimpering your name as he does. He slumps over you and you rub long, slow strokes on his back. You stay that way for awhile until he pulls away from you. The reality of what just took place dawns on both you and him at the same time and you stare at each other in shock. He clears his throat and climbs off you. You both sit next to each other for a moment in an awkward silence, contemplating what to do next. 

"Thank you, by the way," you say after a few minutes. "For making sure I was safe."

"Anytime," Chilton says. "How, uh, are you feeling now? Still hungover?"

"A bit yea," you say. "But it's not from last night anymore."

He turns red. "Oh."


End file.
